


Dean - 17

by phantisma



Series: Ages [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-21
Updated: 2006-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - When Dean is 17, he buys a car, makes a new friend and deals with the secrets he still keeps from the people around him...not as painful...but fucked-up-ed-ness continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean - 17

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter includes cutting, self-harm.

The summer he was seventeen, Dean bought a beat up car with the money he’d saved from working in the kitchen at the restaurant Janet managed. It was a mark of his progress, and despite the fact that it was beat up and ran rough, he was proud. He took Sam around town in it the first night just to show off.

They spent the end of the summer working on it, him and Sam. It was a very happy period in his life. He had three weeks before school started again, three weeks that Sam never left his side, where Sam looked at him like he used to, back before everything went to hell. Three weeks where he and Sam could just be Dean and Sam, with dirty hands and faces, greasy fingernails and oil stained t-shirts.

“It needs a paint job.” Sam said as they closed the hood over the purring engine. “Or I’m not letting you take me to school.”

Dean snorted and rubbed a hand over the hood. “Dude, she’s a thing of beauty.”

“She?” Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean threw a towel at him.

“Yeah, she.”

Sam chuckled and backed off a step. “Whatever.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute, looking at the car. “Paint will cost.” Dean said finally. “I’m just about out of cash.” He squinted at the car, imagining it with a fresh coat of paint. “It may have to wait.”

The faded paint on the car had once been black, but was now more of a charcoal grey. Dean had fallen in love when he’d seen it. He’d been breathless, waiting for Sam to recognize it, to realize they’re connection to it, but if he’d seen it he hadn’t said anything.

“I could help out, if you need—“

“No.” Dean said it quickly, more sharply than he meant. “You keep your money, Sam. The paint job can wait.” He snatched up another towel to clean his hands. “You got everything you need for school next week?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“High school. It’s a big thing.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s ninth grade, Dean, not college or something.”

“Oh, you’ll get that eventually too. No worries.”

“What about you? You ready?”

Dean knew he didn’t mean anything about supplies or clothes. He glanced aside and concentrated for a moment on breathing. “Yeah. Yeah Sam. I’m good.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t actually look like he believed him. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Dean sighed and paced away. “I don’t know Sam.”

Sam echoed his sigh and sank against the hood of the car. “I worry.”

“I know.” Dean fussed with straightening his tools, not looking up. The end of the last school year had been hard, and he’d actually finished it with two weeks in the hospital when his meds failed him and he’d passed out on the track field, bleeding from the nose and convulsing on the grass. “I’ve been fine all summer.” He finally said.

“But summer isn’t school. The stress—“

Dean smiled. “You stress over school Sammy, I don’t.”

“It’s your senior year.”

Dean nodded. “Yep, and I have a couple of good friends, and my baby brother to look after me, a fairly light schedule, a job I love…things are good, Sammy. Real good.”

Sam nodded, apparently letting the matter drop. “We should get cleaned up before Janet gets home. She threatened to kick us out if we track anymore grease into the house.”

“Go ahead. I’ll finish cleaning up down here. Holler when you’re out of the shower.”

Sam threw the towel back at him and disappeared into the house. When he was gone, Dean took a deep breath and turned back to the car. His eyes caressed the long lines before his hands did the same. He hadn’t actually expected it to be _the_ car when he’d seen the ad. He moved to the trunk and opened it, running a hand over the carpeting he’d laid to hide the truth from Sam.

Checking to make sure Sam was really gone, Dean lifted the false bottom of the Impala and looked into the hidden compartment his father had once used to hide weapons. It was empty now, but its existence had been the final selling point.

He really should have told Sam about the car…should have told someone anyway, but it felt good to have something of his own, something private and secret that wasn’t completely twisted and fucked up.

Of course, he knew what Dr. MacAfferty would say about that, that secrets weren’t good for him, but he’d made choices before about what he told her and what he didn’t. If it had to do with the delusions, with his head, with the nightmares, then he told her. If it had to do with Sam and the normal parts of his life, he told her. There were things he didn’t. The car was only one of them.

He didn’t tell Sam things either. Not about Janet. Not about the reasons he ran more and more punishing routes every week. Not about the knife under his pillow…or the reasons he kept it there. Not about the reasons he wouldn't go by Cassie’s house anymore.

Dean closed the trunk as he heard Sam’s voice out the window of their bedroom shouting that the bathroom was open. Some things were just too fucked up for him to admit to, even to himself.

 

Dean sprawled on the couch the next night watching television, after dropping Jenny off with her grandmother and taking Sam to spend the night with his friends for one last summer party. Janet came out of the kitchen and watched him for a minute before slipping into his lap.

It was obviously one of the nights she wasn’t going to take no. He’d been half anticipating it since he’d gotten back and realized she’d polished off more than half the bottle of wine he’d opened for her with diner. “You’re drunk,” he said, only slightly accusatory.

“No…just a little.” She kissed him, her tongue lightly teasing his lips. “Just…want…”

Dean closed his eyes and let her kiss and touch, his arms slack at his sides. This wasn’t about him, not really. He had stopped believing it was when she had called him by her dead husband’s name. Her dead husband…who was dead because of Dean. Dead because Dean couldn’t stop him from dying. So he sat there, on the couch and let her use him, let her work out her needs and grief on his body.

She wiggled against him and he was hard almost instantly. It didn’t take much when you were seventeen. “Please Dean…”

He opened his mouth to her tongue and she sighed into him. Her hands were fumbling with his belt, then handling his cock roughly, stroking and pulling on it.

He hissed and moved his hips to give her more room. She straddled his lap, shifting her skirt and moving over him slowly until she could position herself over him. “Please…let me….”

She kissed him while she slid down his cock, then tossed her head back in pleasure. Finally, his hands came up, sliding up her back. He rocked forward and scraped his cheek up over her exposed neck.

She rocked on him, and he gasped into her hair. It was always like this…on the couch, or on the floor in the kitchen…never in the bedrooms, never when Sam or Jenny were home….always with her on top, always slow and when it was over she would cry herself to sleep in his arms and he would carry her to bed. It was wrong, twisted and fucked up, but he couldn’t bring himself to end it.

Her hand was between them, working her clit in frantic circles as his lips pressed against her breast. “Fuck. Harder.” He sucked her nipple into his mouth through the thin material of her tank top and she arched her back. “Yeah, harder.”

Dean got the impression she wasn’t talking about the nipple anymore and looked up at her. He could do harder. But not like this. His hands slipped down to her ass, cupping it, as he lifted, turned, pressing her down onto the couch so he could control the angle and speed. Her hands locked around the back of his neck and he thrust into her hard and deep. Her gasp told him she hadn’t anticipated the move, but his cock was throbbing and he slammed in harder.

She was already crying, and coming, and he didn’t stop, just kept pumping, each stoke harder. Her body was a mass of tense muscle, clenching around him as her orgasm played out and finally pushed him over the edge.

He pulled out and fell back to his seat on the couch. He almost never came when they did this, and never like this. It was never about him. It was about what she needed. She had curled up on her side, her tears nearly silent. Dean tucked himself back into his jeans and took a deep breath.

He hated himself, closed his eyes and waited for her breathing to even out, waited to know she was near sleep. It would be worse for this, for having allowed himself the pleasure. It was harder to rationalize. Harder to pretend.

Dean sighed and looked at her. Maybe it was time for that. He turned the television off and reached for the afghan on the back of the couch. Let her sleep her, let her wake up here, with his come inside her. Maybe let her take responsibility for this thing.

He covered her and kissed her forehead and went to his room. It always seemed so empty when Sam wasn’t there. He stripped down and considered a shower, but decided against it. He pulled on clean boxers and a plain white t-shirt and sat on the edge of his bed.

The knife was in his hand before he even realized it, its blade sharp, beautiful. It was a hunting knife, with a black handle and six inches of blade. It was cool as it rested against his skin, on his thigh. He stared at it, turning it to catch the light from his bedside lamp…standing it on edge, rolling it up to its point, then down again. He repeated the motion endlessly, each pass moving more slowly, each pass digging slightly harder against his skin. It didn’t take much pressure to cut the flesh, and his breath hissed in as he felt the blade slice cleanly into him.

There was no pain, not at first. There was flesh separated from flesh…the heat as blood welled…then at long last the sting. He pulled the blade away and watched the blood spring up along the thin line. In all its maybe four inches, and only deep enough to bleed. He breathed and let it sting. Then, he carefully cleaned the blade and put it away, pressed a tissue to the wound until the bleeding stopped.

He flushed the evidence in the toilet, didn’t look in his own eyes as he faced the medicine cabinet and pulleddown the pills. He opened the bottle and counted the remaining doses before setting one on the counter, then repeated the process with the other two. Always counted, made sure he was doing it right, even though Sammy didn’t check him anymore. As long as he did it right, he could pass as normal, keep the secrets hidden and take care of Sammy, make everything okay.

 

School was harder than he would admit to anyone, especially Sammy. Dean hated the way his teachers treated him, as if he were made of glass and might break if they said anything that wasn’t entirely supportive. He hated the way his classmates whispered as he came into a room, but stopped as he passed them. It was too much work, and part way through the first day, Dean ducked into the boy’s locker room to catch his breath.

He sat on a bench and bent over, breathing deep as he pressed his fingers against the wound in his thigh. It helped and after a few minutes he sat up, startled to discover he was being watched. “You’re Winchester, right?”

Dean nodded, looking up at the bigger boy…if he could be considered a boy. “Anthony Pagliani.” He extended a hand that Dean took hesitantly. “I transferred from St. Mary’s in the city.” Dean’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him, trying to place the familiar face. “We went up against one another in track last year.”

Dean nodded. He remembered him as thinner, a sprinter. “You’ve filled out.”

Anthony nodded and grinned. “I’ve been working out. My father wants me to play football, but I didn’t have the bulk.” He rolled up a sleeve and flexed. “I do now.”

“I’ll say.” Dean was impressed. He wasn’t bulky, but his frame hid a surprising strength, ask any of the orderlies he’d injured in his last hospital stay.

“You play?”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve got my hands full with what I do now. No time for another game.”

“So, why you hiding out in here?”

“I’m not hiding.” Dean realized that was a lie and smirked. “Okay, I am. I…sometimes it’s just too damn much.”

Anthony grinned and nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“I should get to my next class.”

“Where you headed?”

“English, with Mr. Harris. You?”

“History, um…” He pulled out his schedule from a pocket. “Ah…Drew?”

Dean nodded. “I had him last year, he’s okay. He talks too fast, but his hand outs cover almost everything, so as long as you keep those, you’ll be okay.”

“Good to know.”

Dean moved past him, then stopped and turned to extend his hand. “It was nice to meet you again, Anthony.”

“Tony,” he said with a grin, taking Dean’s hand. Something in his expression made Dean flush, his stomach flipping a little as he squeezed Dean’s hand. “I’ll see you around, Winchester.”

“Dean,” he said instinctively.

Tony winked. “I like Winchester better.”

Dean had nothing to say to that, so he left, heading off to the English hall.

 

The first two weeks of his senior year disappeared in a haze of assignments, workouts and work, leaving him little time to contemplate anything beyond them. He liked it when his life was like this, when he could lose himself in normal and not have to think about the rest.

As a result though, his visit with Dr. McAfferty had him restless. He didn’t have much to talk about, and she had a way of pushing him into the dark parts when he didn’t come filled with things to talk about.

He settled into the chair, his knees bouncing a little with the nervous energy. She smiled and took her seat after closing the office door. She looked a little tired, a little older than when he’d first met her. He tried to calm his knees and looked at her expectantly.

“How are things, Dean?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Busy, but I like it that way.”

“How’s school?”

“Senior year, ya know? It’s tough, some of my classes are…challenging. I’m helping Ms. Corrins in the Home Ec lab on my free period.”

She smiled, jotting notes. “How’s that?”

Dean chuckled and pulled one foot up on the chair. “It’s here freshman class. They’re mostly lost in a kitchen. God when I was their age—“ Dean froze for a second. He hadn’t meant to go there. He swallowed and looked away before finishing. “When I was their age I had been cooking for three years…if you count heating up canned things as cooking.”

“And do you?”

He shrugged. “I did at the time. They couldn’t even do that much.” He shifted nervously in his seat.

“You seem uncomfortable Dean.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah, I guess. I…don’t know why I said that.”

“The reference to your past?”

Dean nodded. “I mean…of course those kids have different experiences than mine, right? There’s no real comparison.”

She nodded, her pen scraping loudly over her note pad. “Do compare yourself to others often?”

“Not really…just…sometimes, you know…it’s weird. We’re all different, come from different places…but when I watch them together, they seem so…I don’t know…” He trailed off and was quiet for a minute. “They make me feel like I’m different, like I’m there…but don’t really belong.”

She looked up from her notes and pegged him with her eyes. “All teenagers feel that way, Dean.”

He made a face and nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s all good. I mean, I have friends. I have Sam and Jenny and Janet. I’m good.”

“How is Sam?”

Dean smiled brightly. “Little squirt is almost as big as I am. Brilliant, he’s better at my homework than I am. He’s at the top of his class, has a butt load of friends.” His grin broadened. “He’s been helping me work on the Impala.”

“Sounds like things are good between you.” Dean nodded. “What about your foster mother? How are things with her?”

Dean’s grin faded a little. “Better. She’s home more, while the restaurant is reconstructing. That means she’s spending more time with Jenny and Sam, and relying on me a little less.”

“That’s good. What are you doing with the extra time?”

“Running, studying. Oh, and I’ve been going to football games at the school.”

“Football?”

Dean blushed, then shook his head. He didn’t know why he blushed. “Yeah…there’s this guy, Tony. I ran track against him last year. He’s moved here and plays on the football team. He invited me.”

“A new friend?”

Dean shrugged. He and Tony weren’t friends. Not exactly. It was something else entirely. “I guess.” Like the way Dean went out of his way to make sure he passed Tony’s locker in the morning to nod hello. Like the way Dean’s entire body flushed when Tony bumped his shoulder in the hallway. In all they’d hardly said ten words to one another in the two weeks he’d been at the school.

“He’s tall…taller than me and built. He’s bulky, like my father.” Dean stopped cold. Panic lit his eyes briefly as he looked at her. Dr. MacAfferty put her pen down and looked at him.

“You haven’t mentioned your father in quite a while, Dean.”

“No…I haven’t. I—never even…” He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. “I don’t really know where that came from.”

“Does he look like your father?”

Dean squinted, calling up an image of Tony to lay beside one of his father, the way his father had been before he left them. “Kinda, I suppose. He’s Italian though. Dark hair, dark eyes.”

“Are you attracted to this Tony?”

“What?” Dean sat up right, his hands grabbing the arms of his chair. “What? No. Really. I’m not…I don’t…” He stopped himself and looked her in the eye. “I’m not gay. He’s a friend. I respect his skill on the field.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to men, Dean.”

“No, I know. That’s not it. I’m really not. Really.”

“Okay. There was just this, sparkle in your eye when you talked about him.”

“I’d like to change the subject now.” He got one of those per session. He seldom used them. He shifted uncomfortably.

“What would you like to talk about.”

“College?” Dean’s voice was nearly a squeak.

“Have you decided you’re going?”

“If I can get the money. I can’t expect Janet to pay for it. She’s struggling to make things work as it is.”

“Where?”

Dean looked at her like she was crazy. “Here in town somewhere. We’ve got like five colleges.”

“You could go away to school.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I need to stay here. I need to be with Sam.”

“Sam’s getting to be a pretty big boy, Dean. I’m sure he can look after himself for a while.”

“Not the point.” Dean was back to uncomfortable, but had no recourse. “I promised. I told him I would never leave him. Never. Promise.”

“Right, and you keep your promises.”

“Damn straight.” He sat back in the chair again, trying to relax. “Actually, I’m thinking about the culinary school.” He said it mostly because he knew it would distract her from Sam, from what she saw as his unhealthy relationship with Sam. It was something he was considering, but it was one of the options.

This time her smile was genuine. “That sounds good, Dean.”

He shrugged. “I like cooking. I like my job, which isn’t exactly cooking, but I’m in the kitchen. I like the work.”

“Have you spoken to Janet about it?”

Dean shook his head. “I haven’t really put that much thought into it. I picked up a brochure yesterday. I’ve got a meeting with my guidance counselor at school next week to talk about it.”

“Okay, so what about the meds?”

This was more comfortable. “Everything seems to be okay. No real side affects, other than the tremors, and those are mostly gone. Some dry mouth at night. No headaches, no nosebleeds. No nightmares…well aside from the one about trig class and my underwear.” He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Things are good, Doc. Really good.”

 

The restaurant wasn’t bustling, and since the accident two months before, it was hard to function in the cramped secondary kitchen while the primary one was reconstructed. Dean actually liked the secondary kitchen better. It was his domain, where he spent his hours cleaning vegetables and prepping the more complex dishes to save the chefs time. Now it was cramped with Tyrell and his bevy of assistants and Dean was relegated to a back corner.

It was early on Friday, when the rush would just be starting. Janet poked her head into the kitchen and called him over. “There’s a kid out front to see you. Tony something?”

Dean nodded, flicking his eyes over his shoulder. “Tyrell’s in a terror of a mood. Why don’t you let one of his guys take over and take the night off.”

“Yeah?” Dean liked the idea. “What about Sam and Jenny?”

“Jenny is staying at Melissa’s tonight, Sam’s home.”

Dean nodded. He kissed her cheek with a thank you and pulled off his apron, heading to the front of the house where Tony leaned against one of the elegant marble pillars near the front door. “Hey.”

“I thought you were coming to the game.” Tony said, his eyes snapping over Dean’s jeans and up to his face.

“Yeah, I was, then they asked me to work.”

“That doesn’t look like working.” Tony responded, his eyes on the apron in Dean’s hand.

“No, my boss just decided they didn’t need me after all.”

“Can you give me a lift to the school?” My dad was supposed to, but he’s stuck working.

“Yeah, sure. Is it okay if we swing by my place on the way? I need to check in on my little brother, he’s home alone.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

 

“Hey Sam?” Dean called from the door way as he dropped his keys on the table. “You here?”

The door to the kitchen opened and Sam bounded through. “Thought you were working.”

“Janet let me off. Hey, this is Tony.”

“Football guy, right?” Sam asked with a grin.

“This is my baby brother, Sammy.”

“Its Sam,” he corrected, “and I’m not a baby.”

Dean grinned. “I’m taking Tony to the game. Want to come along?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen and shook his head. “Um…some other time maybe.” Something about the way he said it made Dean think he was hiding something.

“You got someone in the kitchen, Sammy?”

“No. Dean. Stop. Dean!”

Dean pushed past Sam, with Tony right behind him and he stopped short when two young girls looked up at him from the table. “Hello girls.” Dean said with a smirk as Sam hit him. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sammy?”

Sam grumbled as he went back to the table and his books. “Kim, Taylor, my brother Dean and his friend Tony.”

“Watcha working on?” Dean asked, leaning over the table and smiling his most charming smile for the two girls.

“Don’t you have some football game to get to?” Sam growled and Dean ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going. You three behave.” He gestured over his shoulder at Tony. “Hey, there’s some of that stew in the fridge still if you get hungry. Janet will be home by 8. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Drop dead.”

Dean chuckled all the way back to the front door.

 

“So…I’ve heard about you.” Tony said when they were a block from the school.

Dean raised an eyebrow, though his heart was sinking. “Oh? What have you heard?”

“I don’t believe half of it, but I’ve been watching.” Tony turned a little in the seat so he could look at Dean. “You had a breakdown or something…last year at the school.”

Dean’s heart was pounding as he pulled into the empty school parking lot. “We’re early,” he murmured, half hoping it would change the subject.

“Don’t freak out on me. I had one myself a few years ago.”

Dean looked at him, sizing up the honesty of the words. “My father got drunk a lot. He blacked out, left me and my kid sister alone. There was a fire. She died. I…don’t really know what happened…I woke up in the psych ward three weeks later.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Tony pushed his door open. “Since we’re early, what do you say to a run? We could race.”

Dean chuckled and followed him into the gym. “You’re on.” Twenty minutes later, in track shorts and t-shirts, they hit the track. Dean shook out his arms and legs and waited for Tony to do the same. “One, two, three.”

Dean took off like a shot, surging ahead of Tony and keeping a pretty good pace as they circled the track. He laughed as Tony caught him on the second turn and put on more speed. On the third lap he was starting to feel it in his thighs, the burning as he worked harder to keep his lead. One more lap and Dean just managed to hold on to beat Tony across the imaginary mark.

They were both sweating and panting as they made the locker room and stretched to cool down. “Dude…now I need a shower.” Dean said as he reached his locker and pulled it open. He grabbed at his towel and headed for the showers, not even noticing if Tony followed. He felt the other boy’s eyes as he stripped and stepped under the spray, keeping his thigh, the one with the three straight lines of red in various stages of healing, turned toward the wall.

He’s self conscious for the first time he can remember, about his body, about the marks. He hides them, but usually only because it’s easier than making up excuses. Somehow, he feels that letting Tony see them would make him more vulnerable. He hides his eyes and finishes his shower, grateful when he can tie the towel around his waist to hide them again.

He knows Tony is watching and he turns to look, offering a sheepish smile. “Dude.” It’s not anything but a word, an acknowledgement that Dean feels him and Tony offers a dark smile before he turns back to his locker. The football team is filtering in and the room is getting loud, Dean pulls his clothes on while they pull theirs off, glancing aside at Tony who is just sitting on the bench, half dressed for the game.

Finally, when Dean was done and ready to slip out of the locker room, Tony grabbed his arm. It’s a tight grip and Dean winced, but flushed with excitement at the same time. “Can I catch a ride after the game?” Tony asks, his voice low and private. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you.”

 

The game was tense, and Tony went down at the end of the third quarter under a pile of boys and came up limping a little. Dean gasped a little, then relaxed when Tony pulled off his helmet and winked at him.

When the game was over and the stands emptied out, Dean huddled in his jacket suddenly cold in the late September night. Tony was the last one off the field and Dean got up when Tony stopped at the bottom of the stands. “You okay, man?”

Tony nodded. “Banged up, but okay. There’s a party at Bucky’s. Wanna go?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you at your car.”

 

Dean knew better than to drink, especially with his meds, so while Tony slammed a few beers, he managed to keep avoiding the glasses pressed his way and worked on a bottle of water instead. The party was wild, a victory dance that combined the football team with half the school in a house with no parents and a lot of beer. It was exactly the scene Dean had spent a lot of time avoiding.

As it was getting close to midnight, he pulled on Tony’s arm. “Dude, I need to head home. It’s late.”

Tony nodded, his head bobbing around to the music, following Dean as he pulled him out of the milling crowd, but stopping him before the door. “I need to get my coat.” Tony shouted, pointing up the stairs, then dragging Dean with him.

The music thumped away below them, making the floor vibrate as Tony dragged him into a room that was dark and much quieter than the chaos below. As soon as the door was closed, Tony pushed Dean up against it.

“What the fuck?”

“Shut up Winchester. I know you want it.”

“Tony, seriously, get off me.”

Tony backed off, but kept Dean pinned against the door with one hand. “You think I don’t know what you want?” His free hand moved down to Dean’s thigh, hovering for a second. “You think I don’t see the way you flush when I touch you?” His hand touched Dean and he shivered. “You think I don’t see the way you punish yourself on the track? Don’t think I notice the cutting?”

His fingers pressed unerringly onto the freshest wound on Dean’s thigh and Dean was surprised to find himself hard instantly. “You like the pain, don’t you Winchester?”

It took him a minute to find his voice and the strength to brush the hand from his thigh. “I’m not…gay, Tony…I don’t.”

Tony just pulled his hand way and moved it instead to Dean’s groin. “It isn’t about gay, Winchester. It’s about need. Raw. Need.” He palmed Dean’s cock through his jeans, rubbing against the erection he wanted to deny.

Tony moved in closer, pressing his body against Dean’s. “I can show you the most exquisite pain. Get you off like nothing you’ve ever had before. Better than cutting. He shoved harder against Dean and he could feel Tony’s erection rubbing against his hip. “Turn around.” Tony’s voice was gruff, his hands rougher as he manhandled Dean around to face the door, somehow managing to unbutton his fly and get his hand inside to grab him.

“I’ve wanted to do this since last summer…when you beat me in the 200.” Dean panted as Tony’s hand pushed his jeans and underwear down, slapping the bare skin. “Keep your hands on the door.”

“Tony, I—don’t…”

“Be quiet. I’m going to fuck your ass, Winchester…and when I’m done you’ll thank me.” Dean pushed back, then felt Tony’s finger penetrate him. “You should have had a beer or two. This would have been easier.”

It burned, but not at all in the way he expected. Dean gasped and tried to escape the invading digit, and Tony wiggled it around inside him. “God.” Dean gasped.

“Hurts good, don’t it?” Tony asked, the leer evident in his voice. “Want more?”

Dean shuddered and Tony took that as an answer, pushing a second finger inside him. Dean didn’t know how to respond, his body clearly wanting more, while his brain was still stuck on trying to figure the whole thing out. “Just relax…Let me do the work. I promise you it will feel good.”

Dean groaned as Tony’s fingers crooked inside him, pressing against a spot that made his insides light up like a Christmas tree. “Fuck!”

“I intend to.”

There was the sound of a zipper, then the fingers left him and for a moment Dean wondered if it was over, only to feel the thick head of Tony’s cock pressing into him. “Tony…I….holy fuck!” The pain was unlike anything Dean knew, pressing into him, unrelenting…a combination of burning and pressure and his cock filled with fire. Tony didn’t stop until he was half way embedded inside him, then he pulled out and just as Dean was catching his breath he slammed back in, pushing Dean into the door.

“Damn. You’re fucking tight.” Tony slapped his ass again and Dean jumped.

“God, Tony…I’m fucking gonna…” Tony reached around and tugged on Dean’s cock twice and he was coming, painting the door. Tony groaned and pushed in deeper, pulling Dean by the hips harder onto him.

“Me too,” he said after the fact, pulling out as Dean panted against the door. He pressed a hand against the red spots on Dean’s cheeks where he’d slapped him and Dean hissed. “Like that?”

“God…Tony…”

“Yeah, I know. Take me home Winchester and maybe next time I’ll show you something new.”

Dean pulled his pants back up, his ass throbbing. “Next time?”

Tony smiled and yanked the door open. “Next time.”

 

Dean let himself into the house as quietly as he could, sneaking up the stairs and into the bedroom. He was startled to find Sam awake and waiting for him. “Where have you been?”

Dean snorted at him. “What are you, my father?”

“No, I’m your brother. Where were you?”

“I went to a party with Tony, if it’s any of your business.”

“Did you drink?”

“Jesus Sam. No. I know better.”

Sam seemed to calm down. “I was worried.”

“Sorry.” Dean kicked his shoes off and pulled his shirt up over his head.

“I found salt on the window sill. I…I was freaked out a little. You’re late for your pills.”

Dean turned to look at him, instantly understanding the attitude. “I’m sorry Sam. I’m so sorry. I’m going to take my pills right now, and take a shower. Go to sleep. I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise.”

Dean took his hand and held it for a minute. “I promise Sam.”

“What’s with the salt?”

Dean shook his head. “I have no idea, Sam. I didn’t do it.”

“Okay. Okay.” Sam squeezed his hand and let him go. As Sam laid back down, Dean grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.

Salt. On the window. Dean stared at himself in the mirror, trying to find a memory of salting the window. He shook his head and took his pills. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe.


End file.
